


Kiss It All Better

by beemblebummed



Category: MTMTE - Fandom, More than Meets the Eye - Fandom, TF - Fandom, Transformers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:58:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beemblebummed/pseuds/beemblebummed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swerve is fatally injured and Drift races to him, praying he can make it in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss It All Better

**Author's Note:**

> # implied violence, injuries inflicted due to it  
> # the gore isn't heavily described

Being this cold, this shaky and this terrified wasn’t normal for Swerve. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he trembled and gasped softly for breath he was struggling to find. He could feel energon spilling out of him, pooling around his nearly motionless body on the floor, filling the air with the bitter smell. Swerve could almost taste it, and he figured at that point, it was probably really, really bad.

Of course it was bad, but he wanted to think, just maybe, he felt worse than the injury actually was. He wanted to ignore that he was almost constantly fighting for breath, couldn’t move anything but his fingers, and was feeling his consciousness flicker.

He wanted to talk. He wanted to talk to himself, to somebody else. He just wanted to talk, but no one was there to talk to, and his throat hurt. It felt sore and it felt as if someone had reached down his throat and scratched it to pieces.

Suddenly, his lip began to quiver, and soon, tears spilled from his optics. The fear became so cold, so tight inside his chest and stomach. A tiny sob uttered from him, but it was quickly followed by a ragged bout of coughs, more of his blood sliding out of the corner of his mouth. It hurt, and Swerve whined softly, hoping if he really was going to die, it could happen fast, especially if he wasn’t going to see anyone he loved before he offlined.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, he heard a repetitive clank-clank of footsteps, and his optics widened, his mouth parting as another ordeal for breath hit him. He was both panicked, worried Overlord had come back to finish the job, and relieved that, if it was Overlord, his death could be cut short, is pain would stop.

Being stuck on his back, perpetually staring upwards into the ceiling, Swerve didn’t know who it was that was near until they knelt beside him, leaning close enough so that their face could be seen.

“Drift,” he rasped, a new wave of tears trickling from his eyes. The concern in the TIC’s face made Swerve feel awful for wanting to die, even if to cut short the pain, and he suddenly had a million things he wanted to say, but the only thing that came out was another sob and more tears as he shook.

A gently-placed palm pressed carefully to the bartender’s cheek and that touch alone made Swerve realize just how opposite his body temperature was compared to Drift’s. That probably meant he was going to die.

“Swerve, can you hear me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the silence. His other hand rested lightly on the injured bot’s chest, slowly, carefully, moving downwards to the wound. There was a literal rut in the minibot’s body, exposing fragile parts, delicate wires and spilling precious energon everywhere.

A sharp gasp from Swerve made Drift pull his hand away from the wound, the samurai’s beautiful blue optics widening in concern and fear. He looked from his friend’s face to the wound and then back, and then he bit down on his lip, realizing there was probably nothing he could do.

“Swerve,” Drift choked out, the name from his lips all but a sob as his own optics leaked fluids down his face. “I don’t know what to do, I can’t…. I can’t move you, I…”

Oh, Primus. Oh, no, not Drift. He was crying, he was actually crying, and what for? He was crying for a ridiculous minibot, an idiot bartender who laughed at dumb jokes. Swerve felt awful. Why was Drift crying for him? He had never seen the samurai cry before. He assumed Drift only cried over important things.

Suddenly Drift just sat back, drawing his hands away from Swerve’s body. The hand not stained with blood, the one that had been gently resting against Swerve’s face, was now horizontally pushed over his own eyes, his teeth grinding together. Drift’s shoulders shook as he fought back sobs, as he tried to hide his tears. He didn’t want Swerve to see him, he didn’t want Swerve to worry. He knew the little minibot would be worrying, would be dying to say something like “don’t cry over me” or “please don’t get upset.”

“Swerve, I love you so much,” he cried, allowing his hand to slide back down his face, revealing how soaked he was by his own tears. He moved closer to Swerve once more, carefully taking the minibot’s face in his hands. Leaning down, Drift rested his lips gently on his friend’s forehead, hoping the shaking in his body wasn’t causing Swerve any pain. “I love you so much, and I’m so, so sorry, I’m so sorry, Swerve, I—”

“I l-love you too,” Swerve whispered, causing Drift to stop mid-sentence. The TIC continued to grip the minibot’s face in his hands, leaning back just a little to look into his friend’s face, to see the dumb grin there. With a little chuckle, the dying bot’s optic lights flickered, his battle for breath more evident with every moment that passed.

Even burdened with this agony, Swerve managed to raise his hand up towards Drift’s face, shaking profusely as he stroked his thumb over the samurai’s cheek. He was scared to die, he was upset he had to leave Drift, but the worst part was that he wasn’t going to have Drift with him. It was selfish, it was probably silly, but he wanted to stay with Drift.

However, presently, he had to cast these thoughts aside. He had to put all his effort into one last thing.

“Thanks for being my sweetspark,” he said with a reassuring smile.

With that, his body gave one final shudder, his optics lost their light and his hand slid away from Drift’s face. He now lay motionless on the ground, his spark gone, and his last conversation had. For a solid twenty seconds, Drift just stared at Swerve. Then it set in that he was gone, and, with a loud wail, Drift pressed his forehead against the offlined minibot’s. His tears poured down his face without any evidence of stopping, and he soon began praying, praying for Swerve to be at the AllSpark, to have not died with as much pain as it looked like he had been in. His words were spoken in borderline wails at first, until he slowly reverted to quiet whispers, choking up on his sobs frequently.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally murmured.


End file.
